


Dummies guide to bad karma

by officialusa



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drift Compatibility, F/F, Hey, Hopefully this will make you all very sad, I don't know, M/M, Neglect, Post pacrim, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, What Have I Done, You little shits, angsty Hermann, enjoy your fucking newmann nerds, probably some unresolved childhood issues, we've got the whole family in on the action
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialusa/pseuds/officialusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two, scientists struggle to come to terms with their new position in the world. Hermann never wanted to be a hero, and Newt never wanted to feel like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dummies guide to bad karma

There are no algorithms or fulcrums to guide you through life. It's not quite as simple as reading a book, attending a conference, There's no Science or perceivable logic behind life and falling in love with a good man who had the potential to be a great man, yet couldn't see the wood for the trees. There aren't great Universities brimming with books and learned scholars theorising on how the hell Hermann's brain worked, there isn't anyone who could possibly explain to Newt how Hermann could look at him with those piercing eyes and concern one minute, and be spitting his name like it was something poisonous in the next breath. In short, you certainly can't get a PhD in trying to understand one Hermann Gottlieb,  though Newt often felt like he deserved one. If not for all the effort he'd put in over the last ten years, then certainly for the time he'd wasting worrying about him. Things larger than the two of them and their little, self contained world were changing. Fortune no longer favoured the brave, it seemed, fortune favoured those who stepped up to take the credit, fortune favoured pilots and black market Kaiju dealers, the dead and the injured, families who hadn't seen them in years, and loved the limelight. It didn't favour Cadets and K-science and anyone who was even mildly concerned about making sure this didn't happen again. 

The end of the war was only yesterday, in the scheme of the Universe and the time that had passed since life started to evolve on earth. Now, the entire atmosphere in the shatterdome was fueled by adrenaline and a mix of euphoria and exhaustion. There was barely a chance to rest before the governments of the world made the decision that those heralded as the heroes of the 'new world'  would be thrust into a world tour, visiting universities to stand before awestruck students, press conferences and public relations, interviews and talk shows, after parties and long journeys in the height of the summer, and for some reason, Newt and Hermann had been invited along for the hell of it. There was an unrivaled sense of excitement as the surviving crew of the Hong Kong Shatterdome boarded the first plane, bound for Europe. 

Europe.

It was home to the two of them, in their hearts, and in the back of their mind's. They'd barely spoken since the drift, and three weeks later, Newt knew that Hermann was as morbidly curious about the extraordinarily long hangover that showed no signs of letting up. Then again, he supposed it wasn't such a big surprise. They'd done something no one had thought possible, with a PONS system cobbled together out of leftovers. A three way drift, for gods sake! They hadn't taken enough time to appreciate the magnitude of what they'd achieved. It was a huge scientific advancement, at the least. They could write a thesis. Newt couldn't help but pause as he watched the man interact with the crew in the terminal. He was unusually quiet, a hand occasionally straying to his nose to wipe away a stray streak of blood. Preparation was everything, but they hadn't had time for that. Hermann smiled back at him, though his face was lined with physical manifestations of his concern in the dents and creases in his forehead. 

Newt wasn't the biggest fan of flying, but arriving in Vladivostok for the first time almost made up for that. It was a far cry from Berlin, even New York, as pretty and thought provoking as it was. The city was filthy and somehow, full of optimism and opportunity. The American Dream, but maybe the Russian version. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that he bloody well liked this place.

There were parties, conferences, tours, lectures coming in abundance, thick and fast and like nothing he had ever seen before. It was like the a small taste of the fame and fortune Newt had always dreamt of. A month, two months, three months, rolled by, and he was still drowning in a sea of flashing lights. He had grown closer to Hermann than the two had ever been, and by some - unforeseeable- miracle, they managed to exist harmoniously for a matter of months. It was almost like they had forgotten about their grievances. The world couldn't get enough of the two, drift compatible scientists. Hermann in his geeky sweaters, his awkward smile, and the way he scolded his dark haired, tattooed counterpart. They work in conjunction, two parts of the same machine, finished each others sentences, knew exactly what was happening in the others head. He'd never really been one for superstition, but he couldn't tell whether it was fortune, or some bigger element of fate that allowed them to sit practically in the others pocket. It couldn't be healthy, but Newt was too busy to worry, and Hermann was too quiet to mention it. He was too quiet to say much, really, other than whispered greetings. He struggled to differentiate between two sets of memories, and the constant stress and anxiety had him wanting to tear his own hair out.   

It was August by the time the world caught up with him. They had just started the last leg of their American tour. Europe, Asia, Africa, it all seemed far away and exciting.

Newt got the instinctive feeling that Hermann wasn't enjoying the attention quite as much as he and Tendo seemed too, yet he refused to acknowledge the possibility, knowing it would only force him into talking about his own ailments, the way he woke screaming every night as he felt the Kaiju being torn from him, Blue flooding his subconscious, trapped behind the metallic brawn of a Jaegar. He was drowning, only this time, in his own thoughts. The words wrapped themselves around his ankles and tugged. Even though he had saved the world, he still wasn't enough. Save one life, two, a couple million; There would never be anyone to save him. He was drowning in memories that weren't his own and the electricity that buzzed in the air between the two of them. Hermann had clearly been worn down by his own experiences. His eyes were a stormy grey in colour, a hurricane brewing behind the rims of his glasses. He was still extraordinary. He needed to be valued and feel important, and Hermann's affection was no longer enough to sate his appetite. 

They didn't speak again until they stood in front of the graves of two who had given their lives to save the world, staring down at the wreath of flowers Raleigh and Mako had set down to commemorate their colleagues. It was the honorable thing to do, no matter how much they had disagreed, no one would have wished a fate like this on them. But, while Hermann remained a skeptic, Newt supposed it must have been their destiny. Hermann cleared his throat. The windchill was -20 and a heavy winter shower beat down upon them. His yellow raincoat was the brightest thing for miles. Newt's head turned when he laughed. Didn't seem funny. Hermann looked back at him with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wanted to say something worthwhile, meaningful, something that would change the heavy feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach. They could both feel the electricity humming in the air between them, words that needed to be said, but never would be, for fear of repercussions. Hermann smiled softly, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. "When I was younger, I wanted a rocket. It was just a little model, but it was the only thing I ever asked of my Father," "I know this story, man. I was in your head," He frowned, eyebrows knitting together in the middle of his face. "Just listen for once, would you? This could be important, for all you know," He waited until he was sure he had Newt's attention, before continuing. "It didn't take me too long to figure out, even as a child that I couldn't have everything I wanted. Vanessa taught me that again, and you, a third time. Some things just won't work out, no matter how desperately your heart aches for them, no matter how much you think you want them." Well, if that didn't break his heart a little. Newt was many things, but insensitive, that wasn't one of them. The jerk. It was hard to tell someone you were in love with them in silence. "I guess so, yeah." 

That conversation would just have to wait for another day. When Newt wasn't so utterly terrified of his own feelings. 

The two of them elected to ignore their feelings, to share the burden wordlessly, and as such, while the days had been action packed and exciting, and the nights were somewhat more placid. The Siberian winter faded into an achingly hot summer in New York, and the two scientists somehow found themselves laying on Hermann's double bed, the french doors of the balcony flung wide open Newt sprawled out across the end of the bed, falling into a drowsy slumber, the sheen of sweat glistening in the moonlight and the heat. God, was it hot. He'd listen to Hermann breathing, watch the rise and fall of his chest, like some great mountain, and his silhouette outlined against the crisp, white, silk sheets -Egyptian cotton, Hermann liked to remind him -In the morning he'd wake to eyes that made his heart stutter. Sometimes he'd coax Hermann out of his shell a little. They might spend a little too much on alcohol, and end up as a mound of limbs; a hand in his hair; An arm slung across his chest; Feet in places they would both come to regret the next morning.

It was a simple existence, but the world to the two of them. Still, Newt couldn't tell him that he loved him, even when the tour of Asia finished, then the last part of the tour around Africa. Not when Newt's uncle Illya visited from Berlin, not when the second anniversary of the end of the war came and went. Not as he saw all his worldly possessions from the last ten years being packed up and shipped out of the shatterdome to make way for a museum dedicated to the Jaegers and their pilots. Not even when Hermann begged him to return the sentiment could he tell him that he loved him.

Newt, ever the self sustaining, burning, blistering source of energy, had fallen the hardest, in more than one respect, his hands curled in amongst the mass of thick cotton that made up Hermann's sweater. He brimmed and boiled with bitter resentment in his veins at how Hermann looked stood next to Vanessa, and he didn't know how much longer he could watch the two of them. He'd had his chance, he supposed.

It was early October not a year later when Newt's plane departed at fifteen minutes past three am from LaGuardia airport, a one way ticket to Amsterdam clutched in his left hand.


End file.
